


Human

by TawnyOwl95



Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Canon Typical Alcohol Consumption, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dowling Years, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining while fucking, Roleplay, Smut, They're both a bit sad, Together at least, and stupid, for tonight at least, kind of, scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: A night during the Dowling years. Aziraphale and Crowley spend a night in a hotel pretending to be human. It's one of the many things they never speak of again.Or, in which there is The Sound of Music, steak and smut.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094969
Comments: 41
Kudos: 111
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> For the Free Space in my Good Omens Bingo Card. 
> 
> Veerrryy loosely based on the Masters of Sex episode 'Fight'.

This really was the absolutely last straw. Aziraphale was an angel, and knew that he should just turn the other cheek. Honestly though, after his meeting with the archangels, on Brother Francis’ day off, no less, and the confusion over his room booking, and the gin and tonic in the bar really not being up to scratch he felt like he was rapidly running out of cheeks to turn. 

And he’d wanted to see Crowley. That was the worst of it. A gnawing ache to be in the presence of the only being who could sometimes soothe his inner chaos. 

Or, quite often make it worse. It was fifty, fifty really, but odds Aziraphale was willing to take.

When Aziraphale's room had  _ finally _ been sorted out he’d dumped his bags and come straight here to see Crowley, only to find Crowley watching  _ that! _

And after being subjected to Sandalphon at his aggressively insufferable best, making ‘ford every stream’ seem like a positive threat. 

Still, Aziraphale was an angel. 

A below average one at the best of times, granted, but still. So, it was with great calm and poise, and not while hurling the hotel lamp across the room that he said, “Is there nothing else on, my dear?”

Crowley turned on the sofa. He’d dragged it sideways so he could swing his shoes on to a corner table, and was slouched back, whisky glass dangling from his long fingers. 

“Probably,” he said. 

“Do you think we could perhaps put something else on instead then? Anything else. Or turn that infernal contraption off completely?” Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. 

On the infernal contraption the nuns were bustling about, brainstorming through song how they would solve a problem like Maria. It hit Aziraphale rather too close to home. He had the disquieting feeling that the archangels were in Heaven right now compiling a similar ditty about solving the problem of Aziraphale. 

Crowley tilted down his glasses. “You ok, angel? You seem angry.”

“Of course I'm not angry. I’m an angel. I don’t get angry. Too close to wrath and all that. I am just rather tired.”

Crowley muted the television. “Give you a grilling, did they?”

“No worse than your lot did to you, I assume.”

Crowley swung his legs onto the floor. “Oh, if my lot gave me a grilling it would involve actual hot coals. Nah, it was fine.” He bellied this by topping up his glass from the half empty whisky bottle. “Sorted it all out. Fantastically evil, I said.  _ Fantastically _ . You want one of these?” He waved the whisky bottle. 

_ Oh, God yes _ , Aziraphale didn’t say. Some days he swore he could taste Heaven. The never ending blandness of it. Feel the itch of all that scrutiny. He settled on, “It does look like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

The nuns were still bobbing and blathering about. Crowley got up and presented Aziraphale with a glass. Aziraphale took it gratefully and gulped the whisky down. The burn in his throat made him feel distinctly more human. Which was a strange thing to be happy about. Rather than think about it, thinking never helped anyone, he drank some more. 

“That’s an  _ Ailsa Bay _ ,” said Crowley with concern. “You didn’t even taste it, did you?”

“I’m fine. Honestly. Why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m as adept as reporting to my superiors as you are. In fact if you’re going to be indulging in that…” Aziraphale waved his glass at the television. “... then I’ll go back to my room and take a bath. We can have dinner here another time. There’s still...” He made a great show of checking his pocket watch. “...six years left for us to try the restaurant. And I presume if we both wish to stay close to antichrist central we’ll be spending more of our evenings off here.” He knocked back the rest of the whisky. “Thank you for the drink.”

Crowley sucked air in through his teeth. “OK,” he said. Then as Aziraphale began walking to the door. “Ok. Look, stay. Have a bath here. Probably exactly the same as your bathroom, and I won't peek. I’ll order room service and then we won't have to go out at all. And we can still compare notes,” he added. “Over the food. Or after.”

“My bags…” Aziraphale sighed. 

Crowley clicked his fingers. “Are in my bathroom. I’ll send them back when you’re done.” He topped up Aziraphale’s whisky glass. "There, all taken care of."

“Alright then.” Aziraphale said, grateful, and yet oh so very terrified of how easy it was to let Crowley take care of him. “Order for me, would you?”

  
  


Nothing quite like being under pressure for making the mind focus. Still, Crowley was ahead of the game in that this hotel had made the cut precisely because Aziraphale had already looked at the menu and generally approved. There would be  _ something  _ on there he liked. 

On a good day Aziraphale would sit on a park bench humming in pleasure and extolling the virtues of a bag of greasy chips and a battered sausage. This wasn't a good day. This was Aziraphale despondent after visiting head office and looking for a fight because he was too afraid/polite/sensible to punch an archangel in the face. 

Right then. 

Nothing too fancy. Nothing that could be construed as trying too hard. Nothing too boring or bland. Something deceitfully simple, but with enough risk that getting it wrong would provoke a lecture on exactly what has been done wrong, but getting it right would knock the angel's socks off. 

He ordered for himself first. Best get that out of the way. Then before Libby-speaking-how-can-I-help-you hung up Crowley added, "One more thing, for my husband.. ."

No idea why Crowley wanted to explain the presence of a second person in his room, but the idea had taken root when he hadn't been paying attention and had very much begun to flower. Half the Dowling staff thought they were carrying on in the green house anyway. 

"Steak frites. Medium rare. I say this very seriously,  _ medium rare _ . No he won't complain, at least not to you."

When Aziraphale emerged from the bathroom, Crowley was quietly confident that he'd made the right choice. Any other thoughts evaporated at the vision of Aziraphale in bare feet and a hotel dressing gown. 

It was statistically probable of course that Aziraphale's corporation had legs, forearms and a collarbone. Knowing the hypotheticals and witnessing the realities were vastly different. 

Fortunately, Aziraphale's post Heaven funk was calmed considerably by hot, scented water and Crowley's moment of mental incapacity escaped notice. Then the food arrived and having Aziraphale's legs tucked away under the table gave Crowley's brain some breathing space. 

A few reviving mouthfuls of red meat and Aziraphale was almost himself again. Pleased with a job well done, Crowley leaned his chin on his hand and began to relax

The whisky helped Aziraphale too. Crowley had made sure the bottle wouldn’t be running out any time soon. The whisky was also helping Crowley's post Hell funk. So was watching Aziraphale taking pleasure from such a simple, human thing, which was a terrible state of affairs for a demon to be in. 

“Do you think we really can do it?” Aziraphale said, head bowed while he contemplated the endless mysteries held in a spot of bernaise sauce. “The antichrist I mean? What if he does come into his power?”

Aziraphale never could let an anxiety go completely. Crowley knew he had lots of reasons to be angry with Heaven, they all came second to them causing that pucker between Aziraphale's brows. 

“As you said, there’s still six years to work on it. And it’s all about the upbringing. All about his free will. I stand by that.” Crowley did, but he could no longer ignore how Duke Hastur was looking at him now. It had been one thing when Crowley was the Serpent of Eden, posted up topside to keep him and his attitude out of the way. When he was just the unconventional flash bastard the high ranking demons had been able to laugh at him. Now they were very much compelled to take him seriously. Taking Crowley seriously meant that Duke Hastur had noted him as a potential threat. 

“Must be nice. Having free will.” Aziraphale had settled back in his chair at the table, cradling his glass and looking mournful. 

"Nah." Crowley said gamely. "All those decisions. All that's at stake." Fuck Hastur. Fuck’em all. Crowley wasn’t letting them into his head now. 

"But they don't know that. Don't really believe it. Ignorance is bliss, dear boy."

" _ No Hell below us _ ," Crowley crooned. " _ Above us only sky _ ."

Aziraphale pulled a face that was presumably supposed to be disproving. 

"What would you do then?" Crowley decided to bite the line Aziraphale was dangling. "All this hypothetical free will of yours?"

Aziraphale's eyes brightened gratefully. "Well, I like the bookshop. Be nice if that was actually what I was. What I did. Cosy."

"You realise you'd actually have to sell books." Crowley helped himself to more whisky and got up so he could sprawl out in the middle of the sofa, arms stretched out along its back. 

"Then what would you do?" Aziraphale sounded huffy. With the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol it was adorable. 

Crowley sipped his whisky to cover up the fact that he’d never really given it much thought beyond,  _ and for my husband..  _ . "Dunno. Florist maybe. Or a gardener. Run a vineyard, perhaps. Or I could learn how to brew a really good cup of coffee. I’d want to travel though. You know, do something that could be seasonal, or temporary so every once in a while I’d have enough cash to just pack a bag and get on a plane. Go and see the sun rising over Bondi Beach. Or get Manhattans in Manhattan. Trek through a jungle somewhere just to get to the top of a hill and break through the canopy as the first rains start to fall. All the things I could do now, I guess, but I’d enjoy it more because I'd know it was all so temporary.” That had been more words than he'd been expecting to release. They buzzed round his head, each one a teasing possibility. It was all Miss Andrews fault, singing and swirling as she had in glorious technicolor. 

And wasn't their time temporary now. Six years worth of temporary. 

Aziraphale looked at him, wide eyed and mesmerised. "And what about me?" he asked quietly. 

Crowley grinned. "You run a bookshop." 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, a perfectly offended tut escaping his lips.

"But…” Crowley raised his whisky glass in salute. “It’s a front for your spouse's secret spy ring!" 

"What makes you think I'm married?" Aziraphale stood to reach the bottle and top up his glass, then came and sat next to Crowley like they were on a park bench and not in a private hotel room with Crowley's arm laying behind him. 

With Aziraphale's knees on display. 

"You're right. Knowing you, there’s probably a string of lovers on the scene.” Crowley tried to grin, but his treacherous heart thumped wildly. Should probably just turn the thing off. Didn't though. The masochistic part of him liked the quickening beat of his pulse, the fluttering excitement of being so temptingly close to what he desired. 

Research for work, wasn't it? 

“Sounds exhausting." Aziraphale sipped his drink, his eyes flicking sideways to give Crowley one of his more challenging looks." I'm sure there'd only be one person for me.”

“And what do you imagine they'd be like?” 

Aziraphale leaned back further on the sofa, shoulders pressing gently against Crowley's forearm. “Someone who listened to me for a start. Took me seriously. Valued my opinions. Wasn’t afraid of a little clutter or a little chaos. Knew the importance of when to leave, and when I really need them to stay. Someone I could talk to without shame or reserve, who saw and accepted the silly...no, I can be silly, dear, parts of me.” He laughed self-consciously, “And their hair shall be…”

Aziraphale’s look, thoughtful, beneath the glaze of alcohol made Crowley’s heart leap again. 

“Of what colour it please God?” Crowley said, mouth dry. 

“Oh, I don't think God would be very pleased." Aziraphale sighed into his whisky glass." But if we were human…” 

“If we were human?” Crowley could feel the thinness of the ice they were skating on, see the ripples of the dangerous waters underneath. 

“Then it would be our choice. Wouldn’t it? Free will and all that?”

_ And for my husband.. .  _ Or was Crowley one of the many lovers in this scenario? He was never sure with Aziraphale. Didn’t matter. Aziraphale was made for pleasure and Crowley wouldn’t judge him if he had found it, was happy that he had. If he had. And what they had now was constant, but it hadn't always been so steady this back and forth between them. And six thousand years is a long time to be alone. 

Aziraphale's eyes searched his. They darted over Crowley's face, then back. Questioning, asking. Of course it'd be expected that Crowley moved first. Aziraphale sets up the game, and Crowley chooses whether or not to play. Those were the unspoken rules. 

And Crowley wasn't sure what he wanted. Well, he was, even with alcohol fuzzed thoughts and a hungry hurt urging him forward to madness. He wasn't sure this was how he wanted it though, and he may have just hated both Aziraphale and himself. He did it anyway though, closed that gap, brushed his lips slowly against Aziraphale's because it's Aziraphale who wanted him. Who needed him. And the angel always been a dab hand at the temptations. 

And Crowley needed it too. Just a bit. 

_ And for my husband.. .  _ Six thousand years was a long time to be alone. Especially when you had never really been alone. 

Aziraphale gasped. Crowley moved back, checking. Aziraphale's eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted and his breath shallow. When his eyes opened they were dark with desire. He waited though, checking right back. 

Crowley swallowed. He nodded. Free will. Choosing this. That would be important, later.

Aziraphale leaned forward, fingers stroking the back of Crowley's neck. The angel could kiss, open mouthed and teasing slow like Crowley was the finest dessert. And they kept kissing. That was the thing. No, pulling away and fussing, no explaining it away in a panic. Aziraphale kept kissing him. Tortuously careful and thorough. 

Crowley leaned it to. Melted. Got a grip on Aziraphale's dressing gown. Oh, by the circles of Hell and all that was unholy, he was kissing a near naked Aziraphale. One who kissed him back. One who had put down his whisky glass and was now straddling Crowley's lap so they were face to face and thigh to thigh. 

Crowley's own glass had wandered off somewhere. Couldn't remember if he'd put it down or it had been taken from him, didn't matter because now he had both hands free to touch Aziraphale's legs. 

Holy fucking…

Part of his brain was screaming at him to stop this. A frantic flailing of  _ mistake, mistake.  _ It was drowned out with whisky and desire though. Aziraphale's hands began work on Crowley's belt. He drew back, checking again with eyes half scared and half hopeful. Crowley nodded. 

The leather shushed as it pulled from the belt loops. The zip buzzed. Silence in the room apart from their shallow breathing, the hiss and drag of clothing as they shifted. A subtle change in angle, a realigning of hips and everything changed. Aziraphale was hard, his weight pressing him against Crowley’s own now naked arousal. 

Aziraphale’s breath caught. He had one hand in Crowley’s hair, tugging his head back, while his other hand slid down Crowley's stomach. Crowley moaned as Aziraphale touched his aching cock. His head dropped back further, eyes shutting and hips thrusting upwards. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, almost lazily. Deep and sure, like, in this moment at least, he had no reservations. He knew there was no one watching and keeping score. 

Crowley was seized with the mad desire to reach out into the ether. See how Azirapahle’s essence felt melded with his. Not tonight, human tonight. And Crowley knew that if this was real, if it ever became real, that this is what Aziraphale's love would be like: unchecked and without shame. Aziraphale's love would be what broke Crowley. Six thousand years of survival and that love would burn Crowley away. He'd have to build himself up again from scratch. 

But he'd have help. 

With help and love like that he could be whoever he wanted. He could be free, free. 

Crowley’s hands were still on Aziraphale’s legs, had barely dared to move. He slid them higher now. Aziraphale's fingers tangled with Crowley's, guiding his hands beneath the soft toweling robe to his own cock. Crowley wasn't going to disobey. Not now when they'd stampeded past the point of no return anyway. Not now, when it felt so good and right, and like a bloody sacrament. 

Crowley stroked Aziraphale's cock, ghosted his thumb over the tip. Crowley wasn't made for love, he knew that, course he did, but here where the line blurred with lust he thought he could love the way Aziraphale's own movement paused, just revelling in the feel of Crowley's hand on him. 

They worked each other slowly, to start with. Taking their time, no longer kissing but savoring the changing expressions on each other's faces. The dips and peaks of breath. Knuckles bumped between their bellies. Aziraphale’s other hand was still knotted in Crowey’s hair, tugging, tugging, harder and harder as his breath quickened, the roll of his hips becoming sharper and faster. 

Aziraphale came with his spine arched, head thrown back. He made the loveliest noises. Hips still pushing into Crowley's hand chasing every drop of pleasure the glorious, fucking hedonist. Seeing him like that, something Crowley had only ever allowed himself to dream of seeing, pushed Crowley over his own edge. The pressure had been building so long. It was the strongest damn orgasm of his life. Went on and on, his face pressed to Aziraphale's neck to muffle the words that might spill from his slack lips. 

Painfully humiliating. Felt like another six thousand years before it shuddered to a stop and Crowley was left facing the cold, sticky reality of what they'd just done. 

  
  


And afterwards because there had to be an afterwards. No option to stay in the post orgasmic fug of bliss forever. Aziraphale pulled away slightly, one hand still braced on the back of the sofa next to Crowley’s head. Crowley’s stomach sunk down to his boots at the way Aziraphale worried his lip. 

Crowley's only consolation was the TV still being on mute because he really wouldn’t have wanted to climax to the refrain of climb every mountain. 

It occurred to Crowley he could stop time. Stay here forever, never actually being forced to use words. 

“So why are we here?” Aziraphale asked, bleary and unfocused. 

“Erm,” Crowley’s brain cells were too wrapped in terror to get philosophical. 

“I mean if we’re married,” Aziraphale soldiered on, apparently completely unashamed that he still had his dressing gown round his waist and a mixture of their come drying on his thighs (couldn’t miracle it away. They’re human tonight, after all.) “Why are we in a hotel, admittedly a very nice hotel, but still.” Aziraphale glanced around. Smiled. 

Crowley hated that smile. It was the smile Aziraphale put on when he tried to pretend everything was tickety boo on the outside while on the inside he ran in tiny circles arms flailing while he screamed  _ oh fuck, fuck! _

Crowley, currently performing his own version of that, would work with it though. 

“You’re mother’s sick,” Crowley tried. “And dutiful son that you are, you’ve been spending a lot of time at her house, with her in the hospice. Your older siblings are useless…”

“No. I don’t have any siblings.”

Fair enough. “Then you’re doing it all alone. And I come and visit you. Far enough away from your home town to give you a break and far enough away from my work to give me a break. The middle ground.” Crowley exhaled. The moment was still delicate and unknown. 

“Your work as a spy?” Aziraphale clarified. 

Yes, yes! “All the more reason to be in a hotel. Very hush hush. I checked in under a false name.”

Aziraphale seemed satisfied with this. “I should probably shower.”

Crowley was half way to suggesting they share one, but his brain told him not to push his luck. Praise be to whoever cared that Crowley actually listened to it. 

Aziraphale made sure the shower was hot enough to be not entirely comfortable. He pressed his head to the cool glass and tried to remain calm while his brain spiralled down into a chasm of oh fuuuucks. 

The whisky fumes had started to burn off leaving nothing but recriminations and panic. What had he been thinking? He'd had countless bad meetings with the archangels. Countless moments when he'd been made to feel inconsequential and silly. He'd always bounced back. Always taken solace in the knowledge that he was loved. That She loved him. 

Because this wasn't about sex. Despite what certain sects of humans, and therefore Heaven, now believed about what human bodies could get up to, this was about the feelings that went with the act. Aziraphale loved Crowley. 

And not more than God, or less than God, just undeniably different. 

Aziraphale's fingers curled. Nails scratching against the glass. In six years, if he stood before Her Glory at the end of all things would he regret it? 

No. He could never regret seeing Crowley's face relaxed in bliss, or the joy that being with him like that had sparked.

He was well and truly compromised. He was compromising Crowley. 

Oh, fuck. 

Not that he’d believed he’d Fall, nothing so dramatic. No, he’d battered down a clearly defined boundary around their friendship and made it so much more dangerous for both of them. 

The archangels were right in their forbearance, their disbelief in him. Aziraphale was a terrible angel to hurt someone he loved so dearly. 

  
  


When the rush of water finally, finally stopped Crowley hit the mute button guiltily. He jumped up, his own dressing gown flapping around his bare knees. 

On screen Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews were singing about Edelweiss. 

“I’ve never actually seen it all the way through before. I was curious.” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale didn't meet his eyes. Crowley was braced for this. Had only been half watching the television while he planned what he'd say and then forgot it as he steadily topped up the alcohol levels in his bloodstream. He had done a very bad thing. Well he  _ was _ a demon, but still… 

He'd prepared nothing for how heartbroken Aziraphale looked though. Pale, despite the steam still wafting from the bathroom, eyes fidgeting about the room and fingers fluttering over themselves. 

Crowley had expected a little bit of posturing, maybe a throw away foul fiend. That would have been ok, make it into a drunk accident, a bit of a temptation (who was doing the tempting, exactly?) The look on Aziraphale’s face was hunted though. Crowley had been prepared to apologise. He had not been prepared for the possibility of Aziraphale apologising to him. 

And Crowley wanted to prolong the inevitable damage to his own heart too. He was still a demon after all and not completely altruistic. Crowley stepped forward, cupping Aziraphale's jaw in his palm. The touch was far more subversive than anything that had happened on the sofa. That could have been written off as lust, this was real affection. 

Aziraphale's eyes finally lifted to his. “Crowley, I…”

“You remember the first time we met?” Desperation bled into Crowley's voice.  _ It’s not even midnight yet, just play along a little bit longer, angel.  _

Aziraphale's smile was forced, but he nodded, his eyes clinging to Crowley’s like their shared gaze was a life line. “You’d just finished a job, but weren’t ready to go back to your office.”

Office. Yes. Crowley guided Aziraphale to sit on the edge of the bed. "You looked so lost”

“It was going to rain.”

“You sheltered me with your umbrella. I think then I knew. Didn’t know what it meant. Took me longer to be anything but annoyed about it, but I kept coming back to you …Took me a while to woo you though.” It was OK, Crowley could tell the truth when it was wrapped in a lie. Aziraphale knew though. The love and fear reflected back at Crowley in those blue-green eyes was his own. 

Aziraphale looked down at their joined hands. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I was terribly slow, but when you returned my books to me. That’s when I knew." 

"Your books?" This was _ you go too fast for me all _ over again. The rush and free fall of it. The complete disbelief that this could happen. Had happened. 

"The ones on prophecy you remember?" Aziraphale's smile was still tinged with sadness, but it was more sure of itself now. He glanced up, silently begging Crowley to say something. Anything. 

Crowley's brain caught up. 1941.On the one hand it hurt it wasn't sooner. On the other it hurt because Aziraphale had known for eighty years. He’d carried it alone for eighty years. 

"I mean, I'd loved you longer but, I think that was the first time I worked it out. And worked out that perhaps you cared for me too." Aziraphale always struggled to hold a silence when he was nervous. 

Crowley couldn't breathe, or think. Or speak. His corporation couldn't hold this much. His fallen soul wasn't designed to. He stuck to what he knew. He slid his fingers in Aziraphale's hair, pressed his lips softly against the curl of that worried mouth. Crowley knew he'd been loved back in the 60s. But 1941, and longer. He kissed Aziraphale again, heartsick and desperate. 

“Darling, you don’t have too," Aziraphale murmured into Crowley's mouth. 

“What?" Crowley's voice was raw. “I don’t get free will too?”

Free will left you nowhere to hide, that was the truly terrifying thing. Still, Aziraphale was an angel, and part of that was helping and healing even towards your supposed enemy. Especially towards your enemy, and Crowley had looked so desolate and now he didn't. 

Now his eyes were nearly shut, his mouth relaxed. Aziraphale guided him gently back onto the pillows. He'd been selfish earlier, but this he could do for Crowley. With a focused will Aziraphale didn't look too closely at anything other than Crowley, especially not anything his own thoughts were trying to draw attention to. 

_ Eden. He'd known since Eden.  _

_ Suspected.  _

Didn't matter, tonight they weren't immortal enemies, they were a bookseller and his husband from West London. 

Aziraphale could call Crowley his beautiful darling (quietly, a secret breathed against Crowley's ribs and straight to his heart) and no one would think on it twice. He could give them both these precious few hours to carry through the next six years like a blessing. 

And Aziraphale wanted to bless Crowley, wanted to leave a mark that said they belonged together, even if no one else could see it. Fill him with love bit by bit. Mouth and fingers and care because even though they were human tonight that part of Aziraphale just couldn't, shouldn't be, hidden. Not when Crowley was a being so thoroughly deserving. 

"You've done this before?" Crowley lifted himself up on his elbows, dressing gown sliding off one shoulder. 

Aziraphale looked up from leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses on the dip of Crowley's stomach. "You're asking me this now?" 

"I’m wondering if I was right about your string of lovers?" No jealousy in Crowley's face, the slight tilt of his head, just curiosity. 

"Worried?" Aziraphale asked, unable and unwilling to hold back the fondness in his voice. 

Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale thought about Crowley and previous strings of lovers the demon may have had. The idea made him very glad that Crowley had been finding companionship and pleasure where he could. He hoped Crowley might continue to do so after tonight. 

"Not worried." Crowley grinned, not quite hiding the pain in it. "You married me, didn't you?" 

"Yes." It was all Aziraphale had the courage to say. It was true, in a way. Aziraphale was here with him. Now. Even if it was only for tonight Crowley had been chosen. And Aziraphale always chose Crowley. Even when he didn’t think he should, or didn’t mean to. Even when he had made up his mind to resist. It all came back to Crowley. How long could he keep justifying that, really? How long before there was nowhere left to hide?

_ I will keep you safe, my love. Right to the end. We can stop this war. I’ll find a way.  _

"Lie back, darling." Aziraphale lowered his head back to Crowley's stomach. He lapped at the salt on his skin, working his way over the sharpness of Crowley's hip bone. 

Crowley stretched out beneath him, luxuriating in the attention like a cat. Aziraphale gave him more. Everything he had. He went slowly, and steadily, as he always had. This was not to be rushed, the imprinting of himself on another's flesh. He wanted to reach out and caress Crowley's soul, run his fingers through dark, star flecked feathers. 

Not tonight. Don't think of the possibility of other nights and ruin this one. 

Aziraphale turned his attention outwards, focusing only on Crowley. When he (finally, finally) allowed himself the pleasure of taking Crowley into his mouth, the demon's spine curled off the bed. His hiss resolving itself into whimpers of  _ angel, oh my angel.  _

Crowley's slender fingers dug into the bedsheets, bunching them up and his knuckles whitening. 

_ Oh darling, you can grip me like that. I'm not glass brittle and sharp like Heaven. I won't break or cut if you hold on too tightly.  _

Crowley's reactions were glorious. Aziraphale felt the burst of demonic power darkening the air, and jerked quickly back. He wanted to reach for Crowley's essence. Drag it forth and indulge it with attention too. 

Not tonight. Human tonight. This was what they had. Aziraphale focused on Crowley, sucking and teasing. Working him slowly and surely into a knot of frustrated yearning until he cried out, flooding Aziraphale's mouth with his spend. 

Crowley's chest heaved. He'd thrown oner hand across his eyes, and his hair and grown just half an inch longer. Aziraphale sat back between his spread thighs and prayed he could etch the vision of it on to his memory. Right along with the musk in the air, and the slightly sour taste in the back of his throat. 

Crowley looked delicate and vulnerable, and filthy. Mussed and sweaty, and gorgeously real. He'd always been like this in Aziraphale's fantasies. The darkest, secret ones he'd never acted on until today. 

This had been perfected. And now it had to end. Aziraphale was a terrible angel. 

  
  


Another afterwards. They lay on the bed, skin cooling and hands barely touching. Each afraid to move or break the silence.  _ The Sound of Music _ was still on mute. What time was it? How much longer could they make it last?

Eventually, Crowley roused himself, sitting up and drawing up his legs so he could throw his arms over his knees. "I never realised what it's about before." He waved a hand at the television. "She walks away from the convent to be with the man she loves and he is consistently defying a totalitarian regime to keep his family and the land he cares for safe."

Aziraphale moved only to fold his hands over his stomach." Yes, well. Some… people don't look at things too closely. They just like the tunes."

"You have the play bill." Crowley half turned. "I remember you humming this in the sixties." 

Aziraphale sat up, swinging his legs off the bed so he could retrieve his dressing gown. "Well, I can change my mind. And you aren't around all the time, Crowley. We don't have breakfast together. Aren't there to say goodnight to."

"I travel for work, you know that." It was a last attempt to hold the fantasy together. 

Aziraphale was no longer naked. He'd miracled his clothes miracled back on and stood back from the bed adjusting his tie. He had gone. Retreated back to the worries of reality, and the self-recriminations for his own weaknesses. 

Crowley ran hand through his hair. He'd waited for this, hadn't he? Why was he still so thoroughly unprepared for it. 

"I should go. Back to my own room." Aziraphale looked at his shoes. 

"Angel…"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Please, don't." 

_ Know the importance of when to leave. Or, in this case, when to let him go.  _

Crowley knotted his hands to stop the frisky things from reaching out. "Aziraphale, then. Will you not at least kiss your husband goodbye?" 

The pain in Aziraphale's gaze stabbed straight to Crowley's guts. Still, Aziraphale came forward. He held Crowley's face in both his hands. A brush of lips on Crowley's forehead. Almost a blessing. Not what he wanted. Very far from what he wanted, but Crowley would take anything. Any reassurance that whatever it was that had happened tonight had not broken them. They were stronger than this, surely?

"I'll see you in the morning," Aziraphale said. There. Not broken. Cracked perhaps, but nothing a fry up and silence wouldn’t smooth over. 

"For breakfast?" Anger followed relief into Crowley's voice because part of him wanted to fight about this. Wanted to break things so that they could build something new. He didn't really have the energy for it though. Was too sad to argue. Too resigned. There was not a happy ending to be had here and he'd chosen this anyway. Free will and all that. Could have stopped it anytime and didn't, even though he knew how much it'd hurt them both. Was it worth it though, to know how Aziraphale kissed, how he loved? And know the odds of experiencing that again was not good. 

Still, they’d survived worse than this. Would survive the worst to come if Crowley had his way. Then, well, then brave new world, wasn’t it?

_ I’ve got your thermos tucked away safe, yet. Don’t want to use it but I will, oh I will. _

Aziraphale stopped, bag in his hand. "Yes. I'll see you for breakfast." His voice had some bite to it now. He knew what Crowley was doing. 

Breakfast would be downstairs though, in the restaurant. It didn't need to be said. 

"Goodnight," Crowley said pointedly. 

Aziraphale turned, his smile tight and his eyes worried. His nod was curt. “Goodnight.”

It also didn't need to be said that this whole episode was going in the box under their metaphorical marriage bed with a flask full of holy water and all the other things they categorically didn't talk about. 

It really was getting quite crowded under there. Crowley flopped back on the bed and filled his thoughts with  _ The Sound of Music _ . 

  
  
  



End file.
